Memories

Some days, the memories of that weekend come back in little spots here and there. The anger I felt because he wouldn't answer his damn phone. Because he was dumb enough to drink and do what God knows what else in front of the kids. The anger I had because Gordon and Ruth wouldn't help me because of their selfishness.

The images in my head from that first day, that week, that final day.... I just want them to go away. I carry a picture I took of him in my wallet. I took it of him in the hospital once they finally got him stabilized. It's a reminder for me of what happened. Some day, I'll take it out and throw it away.

I can still see him on the floor in my bedroom, just laying there, jerking his hand over his belly. I thought for sure he was just laying there scratching his belly. Until I looked closer and realized it wasn't a voluntary thing. Walking into my room and seeing him on the floor like that.... his cut off jean shorts, no shirt, dried up puke on his face. Drawings all over his chest from the girls trying to wake him up. He had already relieved himself and his eyes were rolling in his head. I don't know how I managed to remain so calm when I called 911. I really don't.

I can still hear that horrible sound from when they took the tube out of his throat. I turned my head into someones chest, I don't even remember who's it was. When I went to clean him up before the kids came in, I felt so defeated. Like God was punishing me for everything I had done wrong as a wife, mother, daughter... All I wanted to do was climb in the bed with him. I just wanted him to hold me one more time. Just one more time....